


you were meant for me (and i was meant for you)

by dollseyes



Category: The Bright Sessions (Podcast)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-26
Updated: 2020-02-27
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:01:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22912147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dollseyes/pseuds/dollseyes
Summary: Two moving days.
Relationships: Joan Bright/Owen Thompson | Agent Green
Comments: 4
Kudos: 9





	1. dreams last so long

Owen had always been a morning person. Loved the time to himself before anyone else woke up. Often it was his most productive hours of the day. No distractions, just silence in the dim morning light.

This particular morning sat lightly on his chest as he woke. Or it would, if not for the weight of a head there. He took a moment to brush his fingers through her hair. She hummed and dug down deeper. With a glance over at the bright red numbers on the bedside table, he knew it would be a while before Joan woke. Extracting himself slowly, he made his way over to the dresser, opened up his drawer and admired how neatly everything fit inside. Since they had already been stealing each others t-shirts for months, it only made sense that they combined their collections into one place. Though he expected that before the end of the month, he would need to organize again.

For now though, he grabbed an old beat up national parks t-shirt that he thought with some certainty had been a gift from his parents in college and exchanged out the pajama shirt that definitely belonged to Joan. He certainly had never purchased a t-shirt from his university, especially not one that read “Psychology Department'' in block print across the chest.

With that, a pair of shorts, and his sneakers, he headed out the door.

The sun was just starting to rise, and the chill of the night before still lingered in the air, filling Owen’s lungs with the vague scent of blooms.

He had been looking forward to this part of the morning in particular. They had chosen this neighborhood because it was quiet, but not too far from the interesting parts of the city. The green spaces and the sprinkling of private gardens promised a scenic run along the well maintained sidewalks.

This morning, he didn’t run for distance or speed or time, he ran to explore.

On the way he found a bakery, a collection of cafes, quaint corner stores and a small diner-like hole in the wall type place. Excitement filled him as he imagined taking Joan to each of them, both sitting too close with their heads bent together.

A woman outside a shop wiped down the tables that leaned up against the cafe wall and she returned Owen’s polite wave. Maybe they would go there for breakfast in the morning. Tomorrow though. Today, he had plans.

When he got back, he got the key right on the first try, a small accomplishment, but one that sent a breath of pleasure through him. Before hopping in the shower, he started the coffee pot, watching with pleasure as it fills up to the ‘2’ on the measure that marks servings. As he set it on the plate, he realized that even though making coffee for two might feel strange now, if everything continued the way they were going, from here on out he would only ever make coffee for two.

His skin bright pink from the shower, he emerged to find Joan still asleep, despite her ringing alarm. Owen leaned over her and pressed a kiss to her cheek. Water dripped from his hair onto her skin and she shivered and swatted him away half heartedly.

“Five more minutes.”

“Okay.”

He dressed and returned to the kitchen. The coffee machine beeped and he poured two cups, overloading one with milk and sugar and leaving the other black.

He carried the black coffee into the bedroom and Joan sat up sleepily at the sight.

“Morning, sunshine.” 

“Morning.”

She put a hand up drearily to her face and then pulled it back.

“Why is my face all wet?”

Instead of answering, he placed the coffee in her grasping hands and used his now free hands to cup her cheek and press a kiss to her lips. When he pulled away, she followed, leaning forward on her knees.

“How did you sleep?” he asked softly.

“Perfect,” she hummed against his lips.

“Glad to hear it.”

He stepped back and the coffee threatened to spill as Joan shifted.

“You should get dressed.”

She groaned.

“What if we just played hooky today?”

“As tempting as that offer is, we already both took time off to get settled. We do actually need to work.”

“Ellie can handle it herself for one more day.”

As compelling as her argument was, Owen shook his head.

“She’d skin us alive.”

That ended the conversation and Owen returned to the kitchen. When Joan finally emerged, clothed and carrying her empty mug, she slipped her arms around his waist.

“Pancakes. And you made the eggs into a smile.”

“I did.”

Her nose pressed into his back and he could feel her take a deep breath.

“You might be perfect,” she said.

“Might be?”

“You left the lights on in the bathroom.”

He chuckled. “Is that the only thing barring me from perfection?”

“You also left your towel on the floor.”

“Oh, well the lights thing I might be able to fix, but the towel? You should leave me now. My mother’s been telling me that for years.”

“I suppose I’ll just have to settle for less than perfect.”

Her arms tightened around him as he finished fixing their plates. She fished the maple syrup out of the box and set it on the counter in front of her.

“What a nice way to break in the new kitchen,” she said as she poured a generous amount of syrup over her pancakes.

“I was under the impression that we did that last night.”

She rolled her eyes and he flashed her a cheeky grin. Her lips were sticky with syrup on his and he tasted the sugar there.

“Despite the fact that you said we need to go to work, you’re making a good case for the contrary.”

They do make it to work eventually. On time, but that felt strange to Owen, who was accustomed to arriving early.

When one o’clock arrived, he called his mother, knowing she would be on her own walk.

“Hello dear.”

“Good morning.”

“So, let’s cut right to it? How was the move?”

“We actually got everything settled yesterday.”

“You always were very efficient. Though that’s not really what I was asking. How is Joan?”

Owen tried not to think about the last time he saw Joan, buttoning her blouse and straightening his coat before disappearing with a kiss too chase for the situation.

“She’s good. She - she asked me to pick up my towel this morning.”

His mother’s laugh on the other side of the line rang like a bell.

“Of course. What have I been telling you all these years?”

“You were right, as always.”

“And don’t you forget it!”

Wadsworth appeared in his doorway, arms crossed.

“Green.”

“Okay, I’ve got to go.”

“Give Joan our love!”

“Always.”

As Agent Green finished for the day, he found Doctor Bright waiting outside his office, eyebrows raised.

“Let’s watch a movie tonight.”

“Do you want to go to the theater or watch it at the apartment?”

Joan considered it for a moment.

“I want to go home.”

_ Home. _

They watched very little of the movie that night, and by the end, Owen was certain even if pressed, he could not recite a single detail of it.

When they slipped into pajamas and slid between the sheets, it felt so domestic. Joan fit into his side like a piece and he couldn’t imagine a better feeling than the feeling of her arm draped across his chest, even if her hair tickled at his nose.

It all felt like a dream.

He wanted it to last forever.


	2. even after you're gone

Owen woke to the beeping of an alarm. His arm flailed out in desperation to hit the button on the top and he laid there, in a blissful moment of silence. He almost imagines if he can get himself to fall back to sleep, then this day won’t happen.

But if wishes were horses…

However, he was still incapable of returning to sleep after he woke. So he rolled out of bed and padded over to the dresser.

It was organized. A place for everything and everything in its place.

He wished it was messy, overstuffed to the point of not being able to close the drawers. He missed fighting with it for a moment to get it open and being forced to catch the resulting landslide. An excavation was no longer required to find a shirt that fit him. At least his shirts always came out unwrinkled now.

His eyes caught on the brown cardboard box set beside the dresser, the neatly folded stacks of shirts he had worn dozens of times, and wouldn’t wear again. He picked up the shirt on the top, tracing his fingers over the block letters.

The cotton chafed his skin as he ran. This morning held no exploration for him, nothing novel or exciting. Just putting as much distance between himself and that empty apartment as he could, until his lungs were heaving and he had to stop to catch his breath.

Stopping was a mistake, because it meant his mind had the time to stray from the simple mechanics of putting one foot in front of the other to less calming subjects. Instead he watched as a door opened, and two women stepped out. One dressed in a suit, the other obviously still dressed for bed. The first stepped down to the sidewalk so that they were eye to eye and the shorter one leaned forward and pressed a kiss to the first’s lips. The one in the doorway didn’t look away until the other had turned the corner.

Owen wiped the sweat from his forehead with his shirt sleeve and tightened his laces before turning back and setting off again.

The shower burned his skin as he stood under the spray. He took his time, enjoying the sting of it. When he got out, he did his best to ignore the empty towel hook beside his own.

The smell of coffee filled the room and he fixed himself a cup before making his way to get dressed. 

When he looked at himself in the mirror, fully clothed, he pulled his cheeks into a smile. But his eyes look tired.

“Well that won’t do,” he said to his reflection. “Again, like you mean it.”

The second one was more convincing. The third even more so. It wasn't until the seventh that he resolved that it was admissible. 

He washed his hands and dried them on the lone towel that hung from the wall.

Despite all the mini lessons in cooking, he had learned very little in the time since he had moved in. Too distracted by his teacher. Too distracting to his teacher.

So he fell back on his staple. Though he turned the toast crust down into a frown. The way the yolks spilled from the whites when he pierced them with his fork brought him a small prick of petty satisfaction that he immediately regretted.

He found he had little appetite of which to speak. The dishes took no time, though he continually looked to pass them off for drying only to find empty space beside him. 

The remainder of the coffee in the pot he poured down the sink. How wasteful, he reproached himself as it swirled a dark brown down the drain. 

He took the extra time to move the box of kitchenware from the counter to the entryway and placed the last box from the bedroom next to it. He tucked the t-shirt that rested on the bed away.

When he got to the office, just barely late again, he found Ellie there, leaning against his desk. She raised her eyebrows at him and glanced pointedly at her wrist watch.

He ignored her, draping his coat across the back of his chair and sitting down and opening up his planner to stare blankly at his schedule for the day.

Ellie cleared her throat.

Owen really wished that she would just say whatever cruel thing was on the tip of her tongue and get it over with.

“How can I help you, Ellie?” He flashed her a winning smile that dropped almost as quickly as it appeared.

“You’ve been down recently, Green.”

“I’m sorry if it has been affecting my work. I will do my best to keep on top of things.”

Wadsworth gritted her teeth together.

“Owen -”

“I’m fine, Ellie.” 

It came out too sharp so he took a breath and tried again.

“Everything is fine. Thank you for your concern.”

She looked prepared to argue, to push him harder, but as he set his own jaw to prepare, she just shook her head and walked away.

The AM kept him busy until three when Wadsworth appeared again, breaking the flow of his day.

“You didn’t take a lunch break.”

“There was work to be done.”

He reached out to the phone on his desk, but Wadsworth placed her hand on the receiver.

“Take a break. Go smoke, go for a walk, call your parents, whatever it is you normally do in the afternoon.”

Owen did not want to call his mother, but Wadsworth didn’t move until he had stood from his desk and put his coat on.

“Very well.”

The day was warm and humid. He can feel the rain coming. Not for another couple hours, but the air lay heavy with anticipation, and he hadn’t taken his coat from the apartment.

Standing outside uselessly made him wish he smoked, just to have something to do. Instead, he lifts his cell from his pocket and dials.

“Hello dear.”

“Hello.”

“Is Joan still coming to get the rest of her stuff today?”

“Yeah, she asked that I not be in the apartment when she comes. But I packed it all up last night for her and set it by the door.”

She hadn’t wanted to see him again, and he couldn’t really blame her. He could only really blame himself.

His mother hummed.

“And how are you doing?”

“I’m fine.”

It was the most convincing one he’d managed all day, but his mother’s silence told him she was not convinced.

“I’ll be fine. It’s not the end of the world.”

“I know you’ll be fine dear, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t feel like the end of the world.”

It hurt to think about and he had to take a seat on the bench that stood against the side of the AM. 

“Yeah,” he admitted softly, too softly for her to actually hear.

He cleared his throat.

“Yeah, it does. I just, it’s probably the last time she’ll be in the apartment, and I kind of wish she would let me be there, but at the same time I don’t want to see her take the last of her things. I don’t want it to feel so final.”

“It’s hard. To lose someone you thought was the love of your life.”

Owen wiped the wetness from his face.

“I still think that, I just, now I’m not so sure that I’m the love of her life.”

“Oh, darling.”

“No, I, I don’t...I just...I’ve got to get back to work mom.”

“Okay dear, good bye. Your father and I love you.”

“Yeah, I love you both too.”

He hung up and dropped his head into his hands.

When he walked back through the front doors, he flashed the secretary a smile and she greeted him with a kind wave.

The rest of the day passed in a haze until Wadsworth escorted him out of his office.

“Go home, Green.”

He didn’t. Instead he went to a cafe and stared at a cup of decaf black coffee until it was cold and the waitress gave him a concerned look.

From there, he went to the movies. The line snaked back and forth and he let himself be buoyed up to the front where he stared blankly at the titles above him and he realized someone was speaking to him.

“I’m sorry, what did you say?”

“Which movie did you want to see?” The teenager behind the counter looked fed up.

“I - that one,” he said pointing at one on the list.

“Just one ticket sir?”

His voice caught in his throat for a moment before he managed to free it.

“Just one, yes.”

The movie was cheerful, a children’s film that had been out for a while, judging by the fact that he was the only one in the theater. He found it a tad too blurry to watch and kept having to blink to clear his vision.

The girl who cleaned the theater asked him to leave when he sat there long after the credits rolled.

It was dark out when he got back outside, and the rain started in earnest, so he decided to walk home.

When he finally landed in bed, his wet clothes still on, his cell rang and his four favorite letters flashed on the screen.

“Have you seen my psych department shirt? I can’t seem to find it.” 

She sounded tired. Exhausted really.

“No. Are you sure it wasn’t in the last box?”

“I just checked. Would you look in the dresser?”

“Of course.”

He got up and opened the drawer.

“It’s not in here.”

“Okay, maybe it’s somewhere else. Thank you for checking.”

“It was nothing,” he said.

He could feel her pause, prepared to scold him for using his AM voice when talking with her, but instead she just sighed.

“Goodbye, Owen.”

“Goodbye.”

The line clicked out.

“Joan.”

He tossed his phone on the bed.

His wet clothes ended up in a pile on his floor. He pulled on his pajama shorts and a shirt and climbed into bed.

From under his pillow he extracted a neatly folded shirt that read in block letters “Psychology Department” across the front. He clutched it to his chest.

He should have known that the dream had to end eventually.


End file.
